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bambiesfics · 1 year ago

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𝐄. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♥️’𝐬 𝐌*𝐥𝐟𝐬 ╰₊✧ ﾟ

Part One - [FIND PART TWO HERE]

ˎˊ˗ SYNOPSIS: You’re a yummy, soft around the edges older lady, with a post-partum body that jiggles in the most delicious ways. Ellie simply can’t get ahold of herself, every time she sees you, her pupils turn into pretty pink hearts, and her clit thumps in rhythm with her beating heart.

ˎˊ˗ A/N: This is re-upload of my series fic, part 2 & 3 are already written!

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓, when Ellie Williams realized for the first time, how much of a sick little whore she was for older women, especially with children.

Her jaw went slack when she walked by your house in the warm weather, lustfully staring at how the crease of your ass was spilling out from under your denim cut off shorts. You were too busy wiping chocolate off your toddler's face to notice the young brunette ogling you like a pervert.

Her steps faltered and then eventually just slowed to a complete stop. A wanton chance to stand there and stare at you. Ellie’s heart was thumping fast, but her clit was thumping faster. You were so womanly, so plush and pretty. Gosh, Ellie was so enamored with the tubby meat of your ass, and those yummy thighs of yours, to notice that her vanilla scoop ice cream had slowly melted atop her tight fist, and the sugary drippings splattered onto the toe-box of her converse sneakers.

When you finally stood up from where you were bent over your toddler, after haven given the aforementioned teen girl, a free, front-row show to ogle at your asscheeks. You’d realized that the same adorable young girl with auburn hair, had been staring at you. You naturally assumed it was heatstroke that made her all stiff like that. So you invited her inside. But reality set in when you noticed that no matter what you were doing, whether it was getting her a glass of water, or placing the back of your hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature, Ellie's eyes always found their way back down to your puffy nipples or your buttcheeks.

She continuously ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she manspread. Or rubbed her palms down her thighs just slow enough for you to catch the pride flag bracelet dangling from her wrist. And in less than a second your thoughts had flitted from ‘Oh…’ to ‘OH!’

You tried to push it into the back of your mind. Because, surely that didn’t mean anything. Ellie was just a nice young lady whose head was stuck in the clouds, the bracelet and the wandering green eyes, they didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to…fuck you, did it? She’s too young to be so ambitious anyway, to be so wantonly lustful. No not this sweet, slightly spaced out, teenage girl. That’s what you wished to believe, so you rolled off the lustful thoughts, and instead offered her some lunch. A baloney and lettuce sandwhich with the crust cut off. Just how you assumed every kid liked it, It was the motherly thing to do.

“Wanna taste you sooo bad” she muttered as you came up close to place her lunch next to her. In an instant a deep pink blush bloomed wildly on Ellie’s face, her eyes widened in embarrassment and the blood vessels in her eyes became more pronounced. “I-I meant I wanna taste your sandwiches. L-L-like the one you just gave me…..I’m really sorry.” She turned her head to the side “Fuck. me.” The cherry cheeked girl had whispered the last part so low you almost missed it.

Ellie was so fucking humiliated, but she couldn’t help it. All she could do was trip and stumble over her words, and apologize each time her sinful lips accidentally verbalized every vivid fantasy she had, without her brain’s consent. Your curvy, post-partum body was doing sick things to her cunt. Cause damn, all she wanted was to stuff her face under your puffy pussy, tell you to drop your full weight on her head and then beg you to suffocate her.

Ellie got her wish, because after she embarrassed herself, you invited her to watch a few cartoons with your tot. Cartoons transitioned to action thrillers when your toddler got sleepy. And thrillers turned into you riding her tongue as she nipped her pink lips at your thumping, swollen clit. Suckling it into her mouth as she rubbed her own pussy through her jeans. Ellie brought both hands to grab the fatty dough of your ass and forced you to grind on her face, ride her nose until your heart's content. She even licked downwards until she reached your pucker, tonguing your furled tight rim. She’d always wanted to rim a girl, and fuck, today she just might. Before Ellie could continue poking the tip of her tongue into your asshole, you lifted yourself off her face and hovered your pussy above her lips as you came, watching your hole drip out sticky strings of your arousal onto her chin. Ellie held out her tongue to catch it.

And then you—.

“—Ellie!”

“Ellie!”

Your voice ripped right through her fantasy. “I think it’s starting to get late, you should go home now.” You said as you held her shoulder, worried about the ditzy girl.

Ellie’s eyes faltered momentarily, disappointed at the realization she had just gotten too deep into her fantasy again. Of course some random lady with a kid and likely a husband wasn’t going to let her fuck on the first day they met.

She pushed herself off from your counter and readjusted the front of her pants, trying to accommodate her swollen clit.

She hadn’t been this ravenously attracted to a girl in years. She already knew she was going to finger herself at the thought of you and your ass suffocating her deliriously, tonight.

Ellie shuffled outside, hands stuffed in the front of her pockets playing with the little Hawaiian tooth pick you put on her baloney sandwich.

The sun was low, and the horizon of its setting was a warm orange. The air cooled the nape of her neck. All she could think about was you.

Ellie had completely forgotten about how the point of her walk through your neighbour, was to go pick up her date from the next park over.

-Fin-

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

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Warm

college!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

Steve gets flustered in an art museum. She kind of likes it.

18+ smut, normal hairy female bodies, steve is kind of a perv in the best way, smut duh, and verrryyyyyy sweet, also robin and eddie being good roommates

note: the painting that Andy and Steve look at is called l'origine du monde by Gustave Corbet and you can check it out here. This fic is for bush (not the president) and bush only, thanks.

.............................................................................

Steve is a good guy, right? Right. Respectful, respectable, two percent in his cheerios in the morning, light wash denim and clean sneakers, and he flosses two times a day, clean bill at every dentist appointment and he shows it, curls half a smile when he holds the door open for girls on campus, all ease, all-American and alright. Studying business, and of course he is, though his parents don’t know about the women’s studies minor he picked up all because of a flushed little crush on a professor that never amounted to anything, coupled with Robin strong-arming him into taking a few more classes with her. But that’s okay, he likes the classes, and he likes the classmates.

“Do you need a partner?”

“Hmm? Oh, I was just going to work alone actually.” Big scarf tucked up around her neck and a big coat wrapped up around her and she barely even glances at him down the slope of her nose, already refocusing on the painting in front of her. But he’s a good guy, right? Right. A real team player, tilting his head, and letting his hair fall into his face, a little shy, a little smile. She glances at him, unimpressed hook of her brow and her eyelashes lifting up over the rims of her glasses. Her name is Andy, he knows, though they haven’t spoken, at least not directly. She’s been known to correct him in class however, her hand raising after his, quick and cutting. He maybe, kinda, sorta likes that.

“I think we’re supposed to, you know, discuss what we’re looking at with each other for the VHS thing.”

“VTS.”

“What?”

“It’s called VTS. Visual thinking strategies. Are you sure you want to discuss this painting with me?”

“I’m game if you are.” She smiles, and he’s already thinking about which of her palms he’d like to write his number on. But when he finally looks at the painting, he finds himself to be a lot less concerned with his phone number.

“So, Steve, what’s the first thing you notice about this painting?”

“Um, well, I–”

“Is it too much for you?” Heat is prickling in a bloom up his neck, her smile sharp as her eyes flit between him and the painting, the painting that he really should have looked at before approaching her.

“No, no, it’s not too much. It’s– appreciation of the female form, right?” He’s not sure where to look any more, a strange kaleidoscope with how quickly his eyes are darting between scraps of the painting and her face. A freckle under her eye, and then swaths of cream and pink brush strokes and then the hitch in her cheek where her smile curves and then, and then.

“Hair.” His voice pitches and cracks somewhere in the word, turning one syllable into two like a hiccup. She laughs a clipped sound.

“Hair?”

“Around her– around her–”

“Around her cunt?” Something hot tightens in his chest, maybe shame, though shame doesn’t feel good like this does. He feels foolish, the quick whip of his head around like he’s worried they’re going to get caught, though for what he isn’t sure. Likewise, he has no clue what’s causing this devastating fluster, this feathering of heat. Whatever it is, it’s making it very hard to look at her, though the way his gaze has fixed on the painting doesn’t feel much better either. He’s never heard a woman use that word before. Actually, scratch that, he’s pretty sure he’s never heard anyone use that word before, not in Hawkins, at least, not corn fed and halfway bible bred, at least. It sets something slick shimmering inside of him, something warm that’s making it hard to think.

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m not, I’m just appreciating the work.”

“L’origine du monde.”

“What was that?”

“That’s the name of the painting. Origin of the world.”

“Well, that, uh, I guess that tracks.”

“It’s a shame, don’t you think?” When he does finally look at her again, she’s smiling, all ease, all cool, and him anything but, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm into his hip.

“What’s a shame?” She sighs, a long sound, letting her neck roll to the side so her cheek scrunches into the plush of her scarf, a wistful look.

“The current trends. Looking like prepubescent girls. No hips, bald vaginas, everything so… sterile.” She speaks with a bluntness that winds him, if he’s being honest, her expression schooled, and maybe a little disillusioned, brow pinched and mouth pulling down in a grimace.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Yeah, well, you have a cock. Makes things a little simpler, doesn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, do you always talk like this?” He says it just a little too loud, a little too breathless, heads turning in the gallery around them, and he thinks he might regret even trying with this girl. Should’ve stuck with the tried and true, that blonde girl that wears sticky sweet lip gloss and smiles at him from across the room during lectures. But this girl, with her arched brow and her twitching smile and the dark flicker of nail polish when she smooths the throat of her scarf. This girl has his number, and not in the way he’d like her to.

“What do you prefer, Steve? Do you like a girl with a smooth shave?”

“Well I think that, um, a woman’s body is her own choice.” And it has to be the dumbest string of words he’s ever said, breathed out on two static exhales, a garbled parroting of what he’s learned in these classes, right? Well, sort of.

“How progressive of you.”

“But the painting is really, you know, it’s, um, it feels warm?” Not sure where that came from, another fresh flood of heat rising and buoying up into his cheeks. Though her expression seems to soften, her smirk falling into something lighter. Maybe, maybe, he got one right.

“Yeah, I think I get what you mean. There’s a softness to it that’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But also a strength, a frankness to it.”

“Yes, yeah.” That sick swirl of shame but not shame is receding, and only leaving a nice sort of haze in its place, his head lolling a little, eyes raking over the painting, the catch of light, the soft rounding of a body at rest, slumped and plush and kind of perfect, he thinks. Although he’s pretty sure Andy would correct him for perfect, perfect not being the point, because perfect is oppressive, right? Right. Fuck perfect, he thinks, this is something better than perfect. And maybe she is too.

“Steve?” Her hand on his arm, purple nail polish and a close-lipped smile snapping him back into his body, hmm? And her smile spreads, and the warmth does too, and she’s saying something about the prof calling them back together and he’s mmhmm-ing on the heels of her brown leather boots. And she sits next to him when they get back on the bus, Robin giving him a stink eye that breezes right over the top of his head as she passes down the aisle because he’s a little busy trying to take discreet inhales through his nose of whatever perfume Andy wears, spice and strong and warm, that same warm.

And it isn’t his number that gets jotted onto her palm, but her address that she scrawls onto the soft inside of his wrist, right over the catch and jump of his pulse, because she has invited him over for a drink tonight to continue our conversation from earlier.

Robin doesn’t even have a chance to snit at him for leaving her stranded to the back of the bus because he’s already shuffling her along by the crooked wing of his elbow, hands tucked down deep in his jacket pockets, snow starting to flit and fall from the gray hang of sky.

“I need your help.”

“You have a date.”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s a date. She was like, rubbing your wrist. That’s a date.”

“I need your help.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Because Andy is not light washed denim and polo shirts and two percent milk. He’s seen her in the campus coffee shop, she takes soy, sometimes almond, for the record. So when they get back to their apartment, the smell of electric heat washing over them and curling in their lungs, they don’t go to Steve’s closet, they go to Robin’s.

Robin’s first pull is a turtleneck. He scoffs.

“What? Turtleneck dudes are definitely that chick’s type. Are you kidding me right now?” And when he assures her that he is, in fact, not kidding her right now, Robin starts to rummage again, eventually coming back out with a t-shirt for a band that Steve only knows because he has asked Robin to turn their music down on several occasions. And before he can say anything Robin is please hold-ing him and shouting down the hall for Eddie.

“What?”

“Steve has a date with a cool girl.”

“Cool girl, what cool girl?”

“Soc major, with the boots.”A little flurry of activity, socked feet slipping down the hall and Eddie hanging off the doorframe of his room, Steve not able to get a word in edgewise between their rapid fire volley.

“No, really? Little different for you, man, isn’t it?”

“I–”

“We need your closet, excuse us.” Robin on the warpath and Eddie grinning big, and Steve somewhere in the middle.

“How’d this happen?”

“She–”

“They were talking about art.” Robin reappearing with a long-sleeved thermal gripped in her other hand, eyebrows waggling.

“Steven? Our Steven? Talking about art? Well, well, well.” If he just had time he’d say something back to Eddie about how he got kicked out of the art museum last weekend for making quacking noises every time the security guard took a step, but Robin is already ushering him back down the hall, into his room this time, shoving the bundle of clothes into his chest and slamming the door shut on her way out.

Eddie is anemic and tends to eat breakfast when the sun is going down, and Robin is Robin, so it’s a tight fit getting the thermal on, followed by the t-shirt. But looking in the mirror, he thinks he likes it, gives an experimental and not at all vain flex of his arms that makes the sleeves of the tshirt roll back up toward the round of his shoulders and yeah, he likes that. And when he steps out of his room, Robin and Eddie already hovering and humming their approval, that warmth starts to build and bloom all over again.

And the rest is a little hazy from there. Robin offers him two refrigerator-chilled potstickers from last night’s dinner, something about fuel for your evening, Stevening, while Eddie pours himself a bowl of corn pops and prattles about something he learned in his music theory class, dissonance and skipped beats, and Steve can understand the feeling. And then they’re both kicking him out with an all too solemn godspeed, soldier. Eddie even salutes him.

Andy lives on the opposite side of campus in a cropping of apartments in a building that looks kind of like a castle, old brownstone and wrought iron. She buzzes him up, opens the door in a thin turtleneck and jeans, her head tilting and her lip pouting, just a little.

“Where’d the polo shirt go?”

“I changed.” Excellent, he thinks, how astute of him. She smiles.

“I can see. I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Bikini Kill fan though.” He’s trying to focus on her as she leads him deeper into her apartment, though his eyes still wander. Old wood flooring that’s barely visible underneath the thick swaths of patterned rugs. A crushed velvet, lime green sofa sitting in front of a fireplace that’s packed full with books. The kitchen is tucked into a corner, a little patch of black and white linoleum, old appliances. She’s pouring wine at the counter with her foot pressed into her other calf in a sort of shortened tree pose, and she’s asking him if he likes red, and he nods, all the while thinking to himself that he hasn’t consumed enough wine that doesn’t come in boxes to really care what color it is.

They sit down on the lime green sofa, her arm draped over the back of it, fingers tipped toward him. And he’s trying not to be such a dweeb about it, really, he’s not, but it only takes a few bashful glances to know that she very much is not wearing a bra. And he likes that, likes that a lot. Likes the soft curve and fold of her stomach with the way she’s turned toward him, the stretch of her jeans at her hips, her thighs, and his mouth goes dry around a gulp of wine when he starts to think about that painting again, and he starts to think about her, and he starts to think about her and the painting together. He starts to wonder, to wonder, to wonder what similarities he might find between the two.

There’s conversation, quiet and meandering and murmuring, their mouths staining dark and rosy from the wine, bodies turning warm and pliant and inching closer, closer, closer. And it all starts to melt, empty glasses set aside and her hand slipping into the back of his hair and she’s going to be the one in control, isn’t she? Fine by him, lax and languid in her hands, letting her tilt his face toward her. The first kiss is surprisingly sweet, just a peck to the corner of his mouth that makes him breathe hard through his nose in a petty huff of anticipation. She grins, lets the next one take its time, a little deeper, a little more heat, open mouth against open mouth, and he groans when her tongue slips behind his teeth.

This would be enough, he thinks. This time, at least. Her settling into his lap, little pants of breath between the wet snap of lips and spit and tongues. His hands squeeze at her thighs, coaxing a skittering sound from her throat when he reaches back and cups her ass, fingers splayed and pressing petulant. He’s going to feel her fingers in his scalp for a few days, the little hurts, little pulls. The next time she pulls away she presses her hand into his chest to keep him at bay, even as he tilts his chin up, feeling young in his eagerness as she smiles wide-eyed at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Both of them whispering, and when they both realize they don’t know why they’re whispering, both of them giggling, getting away with something when she pulls him up off the couch and into her bedroom.

“Why is this shirt so tight?” She huffs it out with the tshirt halfway rucked up his torso, his hair falling in his face as he curls over trying to help her get it off, both of them breathing out a laugh when the fabric finally is up and over and off of him.

“Oh baby, your hair.” He likes baby, baby feels good, feels like another warm bloom in his chest, his smile turning sheepish when she reaches both hands into his hair, shaking it out at the roots before smoothing it back for him. He chases after her hand, manages to press a kiss to her palm before she’s reaching for the hem of his, Eddie’s, thermal. It comes off easier, quieter, her eyes softening as she takes in his bare chest, catching him off guard when she ducks her head down to press a kiss to the dip that connects the lines of his collar bone, there and gone, little sweetness, little warmth as she steps back and grins.

“Do you wanna lay down for me?” Not even a thought, just ligament and muscle moving, some sort of game dancing between their eyes as he settles back on his elbows against the dark fabric of her duvet. He watches the fine flicker of her fingers make deft work of the buttons of her jeans. An absent-minded thing, the heel of his palm pressed to the ache, to the heat. He’s already hard, already smearing warm against the front of his boxers watching her step out of her jeans.

“Oh fuck, honey.” A little pained, the sweet prickle of agony, of being right. A vision somewhere between obscenity and divinity, he thinks, though that would be playing into the madonna-whore complex their professor was lecturing about last week. He doesn’t care, doesn’t care about much of anything except continuing to look at Andy, the soft divot at her waist where her white cotton thong settles against the soft curve of skin, and the dark bloom of curls along the sides of the material where her thighs touch. He was right, and now he’s doomed.

She smiles, finger hooking in the hem of her shirt and pulling it up just a little, exposing the sweet dip and swell of her stomach, and suddenly he’s not so interested in just laying back any more. Greedy, he feels the slick, desperate curl of it in his gut. Greedy when he shuffles up onto his knees and crawls to the end of the bed. Greedy when his hands curl at the fat of her hips and he pulls her in closer so he can press the open heat of his mouth just above her navel, soft and warm and he wants more of it, of her. She sighs, a long, languid sound that he wants to hear more of, dipping his head down to mouth at the jut of her hip, dampening the fabric slung taut there.

Limbs tangled with limbs, some of it graceless, awkward, some of it perfect motion. She lays out like a painting, like the painting, for him, her turtleneck curled up around her sternum so he can palm a handful of her breast, settling down between her thighs and wasting no time in dragging his tongue through her cunt.

She wasn’t wrong about the trends. Hairless bodies, smooth bodies, flinchingly pristine bodies. And that’s fine, he thinks, been with plenty of bodies like that, made his body like that for a while too. But he likes this, likes her, the sense and sate of it, the scent of it, even if it makes him a pervert, lapping at her while he curls two fingers inside her. And somewhere in the simpering sear of it, his hips have started to jerk and stutter into the mattress beneath him, picking up a stilted speed when she starts to moan, clipped sounds and his name and he wants it and he wants it and he wants it so bad. She comes with a long sigh that cracks high into a whine, her thighs tensing and slackening around his face. And he feels a warmth of his own, relief of his own, though the reality of what he did turns him sheepish, pressing a bashful smile into the swell of her inner thigh.

“Did you?” Her words crackle breathless with her grin, peering down at him from behind her forearm and he can barely look at her, turning his face back into her skin, letting his teeth graze there a little mean.

“Maybe, shut up.” Her laugh bursts and bubbles up, her head tossed back, eyes crinkled shut as he crawls up and up and up, not evening minding the uncomfortable cooling in his jeans when he presses a sloppy kiss to her mouth, turning her laugh into a satisfied hum.

“Hmm, kinda feminist of you coming in your jeans just from eating me out.” Speechless, and he kind of likes it, huffing out a breathless laugh as he watches the cartoonish jump of her eyebrows. He presses a kiss between them, sweet and simple, warm all over when he pulls back to find her smiling at him.

“I like you, a lot.” That whispering thing again, a little shy, a little young, and a little uncertain. But there’s no need for it, not when she tilts her chin up and presses a kiss to his cheek, the round of it, the warmth of it.

“I like you too, Steve.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington au

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anaarofficial · 12 days ago

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my-outfitisamasterpiece · 3 months ago

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Ellie Bamber at Frieze London Breakfast Maison Estelle 24'

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quilly72 · 14 days ago

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"okay get help I just got to get help" ava panicked as she fumbled for her phone. Her crop top strained on her chest as she wobbled around the room. Eventually picking up her phone as another wave piled on top of her

Ava grimaced as she tries to fight the pressure

Her crop top popping off as her pants unbuttoned and nearly popped off as well. Her ass stretching the denim to it's limits as she managed to snap a pic. "Get here quick" she typed as the picture sent to her bf who had just recently left for some cold medicine.

Ava had convinced herself and her bf that it was just a bad case of the cold but now it was unmistakably the new giantess strain that had been spreading across the country. They had thought the government got it under control again but it seemed that a couple idiots must have purposefully infected themselves again and spread it back to the public.

Most women hadn't been treating it seriously after all 99 percent of women would just get a slightly larger ass or a bigger cup size. Most of the population staying within 1 or two feet of their normal height but a small percentage of the population turned out to be extremely susceptible to the virus. Some girls getting incredibly disproportionate bodies. Ava had just watched on the news a month ago of a woman with a 90 inch ass and nothing else. Another woman having to crawl out of her house after she grew 15 ft. One girl suffered form continually growing hair. Her hair constantly growing an inch and hour for the rest of her life.

Ava's panic thoughts were interrupted as she groaned again. Her body shaking as she raised up. Her calves poking out of her denim as her butt popped a couple seams in the back. Her head raising up to see the dust in the doorframe as she stifled a cry. Her phone buzzed as her bf replied. I called the cops just stay calm.

Ava tried to stay calm as her phone felt like a bad of soap in her hands slipping and sliding in her large hands. She had trouble texting back as her thumbs double hit the keys. She opted to call as she dropped the phone on her bed.

Another wave hit her as her bf picked up. Ava opened the call with a scream as she raised up. Her tits bubbling into her hands as her pants banged off her body. Her sneakers finally burst off her feet as she slipped out of her clothes. Her free hand braced against the roof as her head pressed further up.

"ava what's happening how big are you."

Ava strained as she struggled to catch her breath. "I'm fucking huge I'm probably 8 or 9 ft tall by now and my tits and ass are making it hard to stand in here"

He paused as he contemplated. "Okay the cops are on their way but how are you that big. Even the biggest girls only managed two feet in three days. I've only been gone for half an hour what happened while I was gone."

Ava grunted as she held back another spurt.

"it just keeps piling on. At first my bra just felt a bit tight but before I knew it I was getting a couple inches taller every minute. Then I called you and it really started... SPOEDING UP"

Thunk

Ava grunted as her head slammed the roof. Her arms scrambling for balance as she started to crouch down in her room. "Honey it's getting faster I don't think I'm gonna stop likethegirls I'm tv"

She stifled a cry as her bf tried to console her. His comfort short lived as ava screamed through the phone again. Distant sirens starting to pop up in the background

Ava shook the room as she fell to the floor. Her hands bracing for impact as she squashed her phone under her palms. "No no are you still there can you hear me"

Ava frantically looked around as the room shook and shrunk again. Ava groaned as she filled out some more. Her back pressed against the roof as her feet slid back. Her ass swelling over her legs as her head pushed forward. She bent her neck into her shoulder as the wall grew closer. "No no no not my house please don't make me crush my house. The building shook as the sirens grewlouder

Her feet planting again the groaning wall as her head tucked in-between the wall and roof. Her thighs pressing against each other as her chest pressed down on her bed. Snapping it half as they weighed down on it. Her wardrobe crushing in seconds as one of her legs slammed into it.

She held back a cry as the sirens stopped outside her house. A scream covering the sounds of her foot smashing through Intothe hallway. Her head raced Into the attic as her other foot slammed into the bathroom. Her bathtub smashing into tiny pieces as water started spraying everywhere

"miss Greene please remain calm as we enter the building"

"no stay out not stopping you don't realize howbad thiaISSS.

Ava cried out as the house groandd

Her leg scurrying throughthe tight hallway as her other leg crammed further into the bathroom

Her shoulders pressing against theroof as she bent her head. Her ass crumbled the wall behind her as she contorted her body

Barely fitting as she felt a door press into her valf

Repeatedly slamming back and forth as they tried to pry their way through

"miss Greene please move away from the door so we can enter the house. We aren't going to harm.. y.."

The house shook with another scream as theroofbulged up. The door started to crack as glass and plaster crumbled and cracked. Furniture knocking against the floor as ava cried for help.

The lead officer backed up as hemotioned the others to follow.

Inside the house ava barely managed to fit inside. Her cleavage bubbling up to her neck as her ass punched another hole in the attic. Her feet planted and curving the outer walls as she held her breath both by choice and lack of space. Her body violently shaking as she bit her lip. Her toes curled as she closed her eyes. She couldn't hold it back much longer as she groaned and screamed.

She broke out in a violent burst. Her head craning out of the house as she slammed into her neighbors house. Almost toppling it over as her torso scrambled up the side. Her legs punched out the side as one slammed into the nearby cop car. The other sliding against the asphalt as she tried to dig in with her toes and stop her momentum. Ava groaned as the house started crumpling around her. Her butt still pinned inside as her thighs bubbled over the remains of her house.

Ava caughther breath as she saw two cops holding back her bf as she towered over the houses.

Ava grimaced and groaned again as her ass blew the rest of her house to wood and dust. Her chest bulging on her neighbors roof as the building finally snapped. Ava crushing the house in one fell swoop as she tried to catch herself. Her legs sliding further out into the street as another cop car slid across with her.

Ava finally free of her prison shakily started to rise up. Easily the largest women yet. Even on her knees she dwarved the previous record holder a 53 ft women who had taken 5 weeks to grow to that height

Ava managed it in 45 minutes.

She looked around as she tried to shuffle away from the mess. Even with the loudspeaker on she could barely hear the people below. They screamed up at her as ava felt her body swell again her body bracing as she fell to all 4s one of her hands crushing her own car. Her legs punching through another house as her torso blotted out the sky. Her body surrounding them from above as she realized the danger.

Ava quickly tried to stand up as she grew lightheaded. "Fuck I need to get out of HERE"

As she rose to her full height she grew again. She stumbled forward catching herself as her foot planted right on top of the crowd. Half the people disappearing under her foot asshetrjes to back up. "I'm sorry I can't control it I can't even stop GROWING"

Her foot swelled over the rest of the group as thefew stragglers made a break for their cars.

Her body dwarvingthw city as she grew again and again.

She mismanagedher new size as she toppled backwards.

Flailing and trying to grab at the taller building as flattened half a city block with her butt alone. Her head still stretching into new zip codes as she surged again and again. Her legs disappearing behind her chest as she felt the city shrink under her. A single tear leaving her as the rubble under her drained in a flood of water.

#giantess growth #giantess #gtsgrowth

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womenofwrestlingfashion · 5 months ago

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Classic Mesh Button Up Jersey in Black/Red from Pro-Standard ($100 via Fresh Society), Letizia Black Acid Wash Denim Mid-Rise Cargo Mini Skirt from Steve Madden (on sale: $55.20 via Lulus) & Court Legacy Lift Sneakers in Black from Nike ($90)

#Bayley #Bayley wwe #Classic Mesh Button Up Jersey #jersey #jerseys #Pro-Standard #Letizia Black Acid Wash Denim Mid-Rise Cargo Mini Skirt #skirt #skirts #Steve Madden #Court Legacy Lift Sneakers #sneaker #sneakers #black #Nike #women of wrestling fashion #wwe #Fanatics Fest #Fanatics Fest NYC

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hinamie · 5 months ago

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hi hina! if you were yuuji, megumi, and nobara's personal stylist (you already kind of are 🙂‍↕️) what's an outfit you would pick that represents their casual style and one look that represents fancy attire? and what's an absolute No for each of them?

SORRY FOR GETTING TO THIS LATE i have . fashion opinions and need 2 articulate them Properly. gomen ik this isn't /exactly/ what u asked this is moreso just. my style headcanons fr each of them but i think it more or less gets the point across gFGHDSHFGJ.

will get long btw :')

yuuji: casual:

i loveloveLOVE him in jean jackets . since a hoodie is a staple for him that + a jean jacket i think is The Go-To fit for him hands down i think he pulls it off so well. u can even ditch the hoodie to opt for a baggy graphic T shirt but the jean jacket carries the fit. it’s so casual n classic which helps it be ~versitile~ and it's just boyish enough to rly suit yuuji’s character. I have him in distressed jeans (grey or dark wash blue, as long as it’s a different shade of denim) whenever i can bc i think it looks good but athletic pants (think like adidas jogger-shaped) work also . add red sneakers of choice accessorize that boy with a gym bag or backpack Bam yuuji fit.

formal:

i feel very strongly about yuuji in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. no suit jacket fr him but definitely a tie and a waistcoat + straight leg trousers. i want to keep a pop of red on him so the safe option wld b to make his tie red but i think maybe he could pull off a maroon dress shirt + black everything else combo. important thing is He Wears Red :)

no’s:

honestly I can picture yuuji in most anything but i don’t think he wears long structured jackets, even fr fancy outfits. he’s too stocky of a build and i think a long jacket makes him look shapeless in a bad way i think mid-thigh is as long as i’d be willing 2 go for his outerwear, though im sure with the right fit i could b convinced otherwise

megumi: casual:

tl;dr: loose sweater over turtleneck/over collared shirt i feel SO strongly about megumi in loose straight silhouettes. HEAVY on the grey/black neutrals with the occasional cool jewel tone (green or teal u know how it is) though i do also like him in a chocolate brown! it is important 2 me also that whatever pants he wears r not too baggy since his top will have a lot of that Chunkiness to it and u need some shape n slimness 2 the leg 2 balance it out. this overall silhouette on megu >>>>>>>

formal:

unlike yuuji i Do think megumi could pull off a suit jacket or maybe even a blazer but whatever it is u best bet this boy is in All Black . I also like him in a turtleneck instead of a dress shirt but if we button him up Completely i think it achieves more or less the same look

no’s:

ok i have a couple but my biggest one is Fushiguro Megumi Does Not Wear Shorts end of story no further elaboration. also, this is slightly more forgiveable but like w yuuji i would avoid him in long jackets Also, altho fr the opposite reason . it’s not tht he’s too stocky for it rather i think he’s too lanky n a long coat runs the risk of drowning him — again situational tho !!!!! he would probably look good in a black wool coat so i will entertain the possibility .

also listen. this is a personal headcanon and ik it likely puts me in the minority and i may even get flack fr this . but i do not think fushiguro megumi would have piercings. i know ive drawn him with earrings before but listen those were for Me . those were for the fit. he was an acting mannequin. but just him??? his personal feelings?? i just have a hard time thinking that boy is th type 2 put metal in his face sue me :’/

nobara: casual:

this is so hard because a. women’s fashion has SO many more options b. nobara is 100% the type to have a different style every week and c. she looks good in all of it. I think though i like her best in long skirts and layers so something along these lines is a Hard yes from me, though possibly with a brighter colour palette

formal:

i had Other ideas but god just spoke to me through pinterest by showing me this dress and this is all i want to see nobara in actually.

(((real talk tho in terms of fancy dresses I like her in black/gold/red/pink for colours, either baby doll or bell skirts, strapless sweetheart necklines,, etc etc etc)))

no’s:

similar to yuuji, I don’t have many things that i picture as off-limits for nobara fashion-wise bc she seems the type to experiment :’) I think any faux-pas i can name r just my own fashion icks so i’ll just go with those: no low rise and no full skin-tight fits (ik i said she seems down for anything but i think she draws the line @ athleisure). also maybe a pocket pick but i don't think she would wear orange or hot pink on account of her hair

#kikuism #answered #HELP SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS #i would have illustrated some of it myself but i am Eepy and cannot b bothered gomen

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the-temperance · 2 months ago

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Within fashion history we educated ourselves on fashion within the 80s :

Fashion in the 1980s was all about boldness and extravagance, oversized silhouettes where in along side bright colours, and daring patterns defining the era as it is today. Power dressing became popular for women in the workplace, commonly associated with padded shoulders, tailored blazers, and sharp lines symbolizing confidence and female empowerment. Contrastingly, Neon colours, spandex, and leg warmers became staples of the growing fitness craze and among pop culture icons.

Street style also took off, with denim jackets, ripped jeans, and graphic tees creating a casual, rebellious look. Punk and glam rock influenced edgy styles, while hip-hop fashion grew with tracksuits, gold chains, and high-top sneakers. Accessories were big and bold, from chunky jewellery to oversized sunglasses, capturing the flashy spirit of the decade.

Inspired by the Yippee aesthetic and movies like heathers and the craft I devolved onto the fashions and inspirations of the time learning a new appreciation for the clean-cut, Ivy League-inspired style, that encapsulates traditional American values.

I have found the content creator Safiya Nygaard creates informative, educated and entertaining insights into different eras of fashion while being sensitive time period. As such I have linked her 1987 makeover video as it helped to both inspire and entertain myself while making this poster.

youtube

#fashion #artists on tumblr #new artist #college #illustration #illustrator #80s #heathers #Youtube

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adz · 1 year ago

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Property Brothers

The first Property Brother is born and it’s like a light appearing during the long night of an earth without Property Brothers. His name is Abraham, and from the moment of his birth there are murmurs about who he will partner with, which properties he will purchase and the renovations he will spearhead, and the media appearances that will follow.

Colin is born a year later, and it’s not apparent he even is a Property Brother until his second year of elementary school when he brings the deed to his parents’ home into show-and-tell and flips it for nearly three times the amount they’d paid a decade earlier. Abraham is the one who takes the ball and runs with it, securing new land on which to build a new home. The mother and father are pretty much just along for the ride.

With their fledgling businesses geographically overlapping so severely one might think the two boys would be at odds, but nothing could be further from the truth. Abraham and Colin are thick as thieves and do everything together, feeding and bathing one another and talking in hushed tones long into the night. They apply to business school when Colin is 11 and Abraham is 12, and they both get in, and they do each others' homework, quickly moving up through the ranks until they are teaching the classes while their professors watch in awed silence. When they graduate at the top of their class, perfectly tied with the highest grades ever recorded, they sell the school building and use the money to start their own business.

There was another brother born too, Gus, and he will become relevant later.

The Property Brothers are in their element. Here's how they do things. First, they purchase a property. Then, they visit the property and loudly remark on its positive and negative qualities. A process follows where the positive qualities are enhanced and the negative qualities utterly erased - this part is difficult to understand and not worth describing in detail. Finally, the brothers sell the property and make a hell of a lot of dough. They could use this dough for anything, but they always use it to buy more property. To do otherwise would be contrary to their nature.

Neither Abraham nor Colin has ever gone to a barber, but their identical black hairstyles are an inch and a half long and neatly slicked down. One of them wears a denim shirt and the other wears selvedge denim jeans. At all times, the one wearing the denim shirt wears dark pants, and the one wearing denim jeans wears a light patterned button-down shirt. It is impossible to say which brother is which. They orbit one another like sister stars with identical masses. They still live in their parents' home and sleep together in their childhood bedroom. At one point, they are seen dating beautiful women with white sweaters, and they marry, but soon their wives recede into the background radiation, and it's unclear if they were ever discrete objects to begin with.

Someone offers the Property Brothers a reality show on television, but they turn it down. They have everything they could possibly need. They have never flown on a plane; they drive black Ford Mustangs. They eat oatmeal for breakfast and steak for dinner. They have never gone to a library or movie theater, never been to a funeral or wedding (not even their own), never held a baby, never listened to music. The properties they own accumulate value at an impossible rate, baffling economists. The Property Brothers are ironclad. The gentle, masculine, beatific front they present is not actually a front but completely real and true. They have not said anything demeaning or rude about a person in their entire lives.

On the fifteenth anniversary of the founding of Abraham and Colin's business, Gus comes to visit. He has graduated from college with a degree in sociology. You can tell him apart by his hair, which is slightly curly, and his sneakers, which neither Abraham nor Colin would be caught dead in. Otherwise he is identical and somehow simultaneously the exact same age as the other two.

When Abraham opens the door to their parents' house and sees Gus, he smiles and says "It's great to see you! Let me get my brother." He closes and locks the door and goes into the garage. Colin is in his bedroom on the second story looking down out of the window at Gus.

For the next three years, the brothers have to use the Internet to buy and sell property. They work on their laptops at the living room table while their parents move to and fro. Colin contracts a scout to observe properties and report back to the brothers, and Abraham chooses to buy or sell based on the scout's info. The scout misses important details: the Property Brothers would never buy an ochre house, but they are told it's vermilion. For the first time in their lives, they begin to lose money. Meanwhile, Gus has died of exposure.

During the time the Property Brothers spend indoors, their business goes bankrupt and their names are dragged through the dirt. "Abraham" is known to buy houses with flooded basements, and the name "Colin" becomes synonymous with "house that has a gas leak." Everyone has forgotten that they ever had wives; no one would marry them now. The brothers are ruined.

However, something is about to happen that nobody would expect. It happens on a Sunday morning while their parents are at church. Colin is in the garage cleaning his Mustang with special soap, and Abraham is looking at paintings in the hallway. Suddenly, both brothers smell the familiar scent of their house burning. They run into the living room and see that their laptops have simultaneously ignited and that the blaze has consumed the table, the chairs, the carpet, the wainscoting, the cornices, the pilasters. Abraham and Colin embrace and the house collapses around them, kicking up a large cloud of ash.

When the dust settles the brothers straighten up, blinking, and walk through the wreckage of the destroyed house, past what used to be the front door and a loose pile of deteriorating human bones. They stand at the end of the driveway and look back at what used to be their refuge and their prison.

A limousine pulls up next to the brothers, and a man wearing a black suit gets out. "What happened here?" he asks.

"Recent renovations to this property have opened up basically infinite opportunities for land utilization," says Colin.

"The area is zoned for residential and you can pick up this lot for a song," says Abraham.

"This is a wonderful neighborhood with lots of walking trails and natural features," says Colin.

When the Property Brothers' parents return home, they see that their home is gone and another home is being built in its place by a new owner. They see that their sons have freed themselves from the pain of knowing themselves, from knowing not-themselves. They hold one another and weep with joy. Residents come out of the neighboring homes with folding tables, grills, and champagne. Everyone here deserves to be here. Everything is arranged in a way that makes sense visually. Jewel and earth tones. Granite and marble. The fingerprints of God lie across everything. These homes are also properties. These people are also brothers.

#property brothers #blaze this

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